


There will be no self loathing in this household

by A_Small_Collection_Of_Nonsense



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Beakley is sad, Beakley’s cool with it, Character Death, Depression, Duckworth being a mother, Duckworth isn’t having that, Everyone is just sad, Gen, Hey guess what Duckworth is sad too, He’s not as emotionless as he claims, Major character death - Freeform, Other characters appear later, Self Harm, Tw: the press, but he cares, but it’s fine, everyone loves duckworth, except the press, excuse me sir that’s my emotional support granddaughter, he’s still a dramatic prick, spoiler alert webby decks a reporter, surprise guess who actually cares!, the press are emotionless pricks, they got each other, webby is the only thing keeping this family together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Small_Collection_Of_Nonsense/pseuds/A_Small_Collection_Of_Nonsense
Summary: Sometimes smiles hurt and memories burn your mind, and sometimes the one thing you need is a friend.





	1. A phenomenal sense of smell

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyooo, so you can blame @Ai-Higurashi for this, it started out as headcannons and has expanded to Duckworth taking care of depressed duckssss :))
> 
> Edit: I realised I hadn’t set this work to have multiple chapters, so I’ve fixed that :)

Life at McDuck Manor had become dull.

The days dragged by, each the same as the last with the only thing to do being to clean.

Mr. McDuck spent his days at the money bin, attending board meetings and all manner of other dull activities before he’d return home and lock himself in his office, throwing a fit if staff tried to come in.

Duckworth had given up trying to get through to him, it had been almost a year now and McDuck had proved that he wouldn’t listen to reason, but Duckworth didn’t have the heart to leave him.  
Besides, where would he go?  
He hadn’t a life outside of the manor, with his family long dead, the manor and its inhabitants were his life.

Or they used to be anyway.  
He missed them.  
He missed them too much for words.

He missed how Della would return from every adventure with her clothes ripped, hair a mess and mud all over her shoes. He missed how she’d chase him around trying to give him a hug whilst covered in all manner of disgusting goop. He missed how her enthusiasm and laughter brightened the Manor on it’s darkest days.

But Della was dead and here was nothing he could do.

He missed being awoken at seven o clock in the morning to Donald yelling angrily at the corner of the kitchen table for getting in his way. He missed seeing him desperately try to put whatever item he’d knocked over back in place before anyone noticed. He missed late night chats by the pool, talking about nothing.

But Donald had left, and refused to speak to Duckworth, for he’d only try to convince him to return to the manor. He wasn’t wrong.

He missed McDuck announcing unbearably loudly that this next adventure would be the best one yet. He missed him straightening his hat and twirling his cane as he prepared to show his enemies who was boss. He missed chastising him about the danger he’d gotten them into. He missed dragging him off to his bed late at night when he old man would refuse to sleep.

But Scrooge was a changed man, and try as he might there was nothing Duckworth could do about it.

He missed Beakley grumpily agreeing to go on an adventure with the family and returning home promising to never go on one with them again (She usually went on another by the next week). He missed annoying her so much that she threw something at him. He missed her returning from missions during the early hours of the morning and waking everyone up when in her exhausted state she forgot just how loudly that one stair creaked. He missed how she’d hum as she cooked and drift off into a world of her own.

So despite the circumstances of her return, he’d been glad when she’d taken up the position of housekeeper.

Beakley was his only family left, and their voices were often the only ones that filled the manor. She was different than he’d last seen her, more quiet, less talkative, and she refused to talk about her wife and child.

She’d brought little Webby to the Manor, her three year old granddaughter who spent most of her time either training with her Granny or running around the house, though on the days when the other three residents of the manor had particularly bad headaches she’d play in her room.  
Duckworth loved her, she was sweet and energetic brought something new to the table every day.

Webby made the world a little brighter

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

  
Duckworth was beginning to wonder why he even bothered checking the weaponry. The only person who used it was Beakley, and though he’d never tell her, she always ensured that what she used was returned to its exact spot without a speck of dust on it (aside from a crossbow that Webby had gotten a hold of and she hadn’t had the heart to take from her). But he still checked it anyways, making sure that there was nothing out of place and that there wasn’t too much dust on the unused weapons. It was boring, checking each one individually, but it would most likely drive him mad if he didn’t.

It was during one of these checks that he saw it.  
He ran his fingers over each slot, fingertips brushing each weapon to see if it’d been moved when he stopped.  
One of the weapons was two millimetres off centre.  
It was a knife, if memory from before the Spear Of Selene served him correctly, it was the sharpest they had stored outside of the Other Bin.  
He scoffed, Beakley had probably taken it for her most recent mission (she’d returned from one last night) and been careless whilst putting it away, he smirked as he considered the various ways he could annoy her about it.  
But as he moved the knife ever so slightly to the left he caught a familiar scent coming off it, and paused.  
It was then that he noticed the drops of blood.  
Tiny specks of blood laying next to it, just small enough that they’d hid from his eyes, but not enough to get past his nose. He picked up the knife, and upon further inspection he could see hints of red on the blade, as if someone had tried to clean it by simply rubbing it into the knife.  
He sniffed, it was recent, from yesterday, perhaps?  
What was it that was so familiar about the scent?  
He smelled it again.  
And it clicked.  
He remembered the scent from back when the manor was filled with laughter and adventure, when they’d come home with arms in slings and it wouldn’t matter because they were all alive and breathing, when finding a knife a few millimetres off centre was explained away by the twins being either clumsy or lazy, from when he took it upon himself to clean every wound and decide whether or not everyone was fit for another adventure.

He turned and marched out of the weaponry, clutching the knife in his hand and heading towards the kitchen.  
It was late, eleven o’clock he noted as he passed a grandfather clock in the hallway, Webbigail would be fast asleep by now, she was above the age where they’d savour the golden moments when she slept and they could relax, she slept the whole night for the most part, so he needn’t worry about her interrupting. Mr McDuck would most likely be lying awake thinking, but he wouldn’t come downstairs for anything.  
But Bentina would be awake, the two of them usually turned in at around half ten unless there was more work than usual, and considering Webby had made a considerable mess before going to bed they’d be up for at least an hour longer than usual.

He was right, when he entered the kitchen as fast as any man could speed walk he was met by Beakley turning around with a raised eyebrow,  
‘In a hurry?’ She asked.  
‘As a matter of fact, yes’ he replied, hoping Beakley wouldn’t notice the knife behind his back.  
She didn’t seem to, as she gave him a questioning look, ‘Alright then, don’t let me disturb you’ she said as she bent down to unload the dishwasher.  
‘Actually, Bentina I wish to speak with you’  
She turned around at the mention of her first name, she and Duckworth rarely spoke on a first name bases unless the situation was serious. Though no one spoke Duckworth’s first name anyway, according to him he’d had his memory wiped during an adventure with McDuck, and while held succeeded in restoring his memories, they’d never managed to remind him what his first name was, because none of them knew it in the first place.  
So Beakley just called him “Jackass” instead.  
Though given the current use of her own first name she decided to hold back on calling him that for now.  
She stood up straight and faced him, giving him a look of slight confusion, ‘About what?’  
‘Oh, I was just wondering if you knew anything about this?’ He revealed the knife from behind his back, holding it up so Bentina had full view of it.  
For a split second Duckworth saw something akin to nervousness flash through her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by her usual stone cold expression.  
‘That would be a knife’  
‘I can see that’  
‘Well then you clearly don’t need me’  
Duckworth narrowed his eyes, ‘and what would this knife be doing out of it’s place?’  
Beakley looked slightly taken aback, ‘What? I put it back in its place’  
‘And what was it doing away in the first place’  
‘I needed it for a mission, besides I put it back exactly where it was before’  
‘It was two millimetres off centre’  
‘How tragic’  
‘You didn’t do a fantastic job of cleaning it either’  
‘…I didn’t?’  
Bentina looked slightly nervous, and Duckworth knew he was getting somewhere.  
‘No, I noticed blood next to it, and smeared slight-‘  
‘Yes, well, that was my fault, I’ll go finish cleaning that up, I’ll even put the knife back in place, if you wou-‘  
Bentina’s words had become quick, she was seemingly eager to get out of this situation, ‘which is not happening’ Duckworth thought whilst catching Beakley’s hand with his free one as she made a grab for the knife. He took in the sight and the scent of her hand and arm before she pulled away, and was almost certain he could see the edge of a cut poking through the sleeve, and the faint scent of wounds that hadn’t quite been cleaned properly.  
They stared at each other in silence for a short few seconds, before Duckworth cleared his throat,  
‘It was your blood’  
Beakley was a little surprised by his directness, but did her best not to let it show, ‘Yes well, it was a-‘  
‘Was the knife stolen and used against you, perhaps?’  
‘Actually you’re spot on, tha-‘  
‘Yes, only thinking back, you left the house carrying a hand gun and a grappling hook, not a knife’  
‘You probably just didn’t see it’  
‘Well’ he said placing the knife on the counter and taking a few steps towards her, ‘If that is the case,’ he grabbed her arm and rolled up her sleeve before she had time to pull away, ‘Then what are these?’  
Bentina’s arm was covered in cuts, some of which had been haphazardly bandaged up, but most were left untreated apart from perhaps a run under the tap.  
She yanked her arm back and tugged the sleeve down, glaring at him, ‘It’s from a fight, alright?!’  
‘Against yourself?’ He asked, eyebrow raised.  
‘Oh, aren’t you poetic’ She responded, sarcasm dripping from her tone as she made her way toward the door. Duckworth grabbed her arm,  
‘Stop touching me’ She warned, her voice becoming dangerously low.  
‘Bentina please’ He said, refusing to let go as she tried to pull her arm away, ‘You’ve barley cleaned them properly, and you and I both know I’m not letting you leave without an explanation’ His voice was gentle with a stern undertone, much like Bentina’s so often was.  
Bentina considered for a moment, she was cornered, she knew that. Duckworth was the most annoying person she knew, but anyone who knew him also knew that he wouldn’t let anyone go injured. He was largely considered the responsible member of the family, though anywhere else he may have been considered overly dramatic abrupt, and generally irresponsible, but when you’re a McDuck the bar isn’t very high.  
So, the likelihood of Duckworth letting her out of his sight between now and ever was slim, so did she really have a choice?  
Well, yes, she could always punch him and bolt but what happened next was a slight gamble, so with that in mind she did in fact not have a choice.

So she silently relented, allowing Duckworth to lead her over to the table to sit down. He left the room for a few moments (During which Bentina questioned why she was even letting him do this) and returned with a first aid kit, and set it down on the table before filling a small basin full of warm water and grabbing a cloth and soap. He sat opposite her, ‘Your jumper, Bentina’ he said as he rummaged around the first aid kit. Bentina obliged and took off her deep purple turtleneck, though she sighed and unbuttoned her shirt too when he looked at her expectantly.  
Duckworth did, in what he hoped was a casual and unnoticeable manner, a double take when he saw her.  
She sat hunched over the table, one arm propping her head up, her eyes fixed on what Duckworth thought must be a very interesting tile on the floor next to the chair.  
Her arms and stomach were covered in cuts.  
Some were shallow and long, others deep and equally as long, some were bandaged, though not in a “ _It is important that I bandage these wounds in order to take care of myself_ ” sort of fashion, but in more of a “ _If I do not bandage these wounds I will surely bleed to death and my Granddaughter may have one or two objections about that_ ”.  
Beakley began to undo the bandages she had done so Duckworth could change them, but Duckworth interrupted by gently taking her arm and beginning to tend to it.  
It would seem that every wound had been tended to on a different level, some were bandaged (though judging by the colour of them they hadn’t been changed recently) whilst others seemed to have been dabbed with disinfectant, some seemed to simply have been run under the tap, and Duckworth was fairly certain some had been ignored. He could see where blood had dripped into her feathers and created a peachy sort of pink colour, and where old scars had been opened.  
He undid the a bandaged that had been rather loosely wrapped around her arm (by the look of it it had slipped downwards whilst clothes were pulled on and off, since it only half covered the particularly large and deep scar it was meant to) and began dabbing the wounds with a damp clothes, giving her hand a small comforting squeeze whenever he noticed her try to hide a wince.  
‘So’ he began, glancing up from her arm to see her still avoiding eye contact, ‘do enlighten me on what you’ve been up to’.  
Bentina gave a small, rather pathetic compared to her usual, glare before returning to examine that very interesting tile.  
Duckworth shook his head and decided to try again when he was finished.

It took a while to get her properly cleaned up, complete with a few wordless and somewhat boring in comparison to their usual arguments, and plenty of hiding pain by biting her tongue, clutching the clothes on her lap and accidentally squeezing Duckworth’s hand at one point from Bentina, and by the time they were done Bentina’s arms were both covered in bandages, and her stomach the same.  
He gave her a nod when he was done, and got up to pour the rather bloody water down the sink. When he’d finished rinsing the cloth and turned around, he jumped a little when he saw that Beakley already had her jumper back on, (Her shirt was still on he chair, she hadn’t bothered with it) , and was arranging the first aid kit just as it was before, both exchanging a silent agreement that they’d restock it later.  
Duckworth sat back down at the table, and gave Bentina a look that said, quite firmly ‘ _Sit_ ’  
Bentina looked reluctant, but sat back down on her seat, returning to clutching her shirt and refusing to make any sort of eye contact.  
‘What happened, Bentina?’ Duckworth asked, making to hold her hand, but she pulled away and didn’t reply. He sighed, ‘Bentina it’s practically just you and me in this house, and you know I won’t stop asking until I get an answer, and promise to be incredibly annoying about it’  
Bentina’s gaze lowers further.  
‘I fought him’ she mumbled, trying to make her voice sound like normal, and failing miserably, her voice wobbling and breaking with every word and a haunted look in her eyes.  
‘Who?’ Duckworth asked  
‘The Agent who…’ her mouth opened and closed and made some sort of attempt at forming words before it managed to say ‘Who killed my daughter and her… her husband’ Her voice barley a whisper as she spoke.  
‘Oh, Bentina’ Duckworth had known things were bad, but this quite possibly couldn’t get worse.  
‘Did I ever tell you what happened to them?’ She asked, her voice becoming louder but still broken and wrong and with anger mixed into it.  
‘I don’t bel-‘  
‘They were on a mission’ Her head shot up from where she’d been staring at her lap, and her eyes angry and sad and not at all how eyes are meant to be, ‘And he cornered them, and he told them that they were to go home and take care of any loose ends and then return to him or he’d kill everyone they’d ever loved’ her voice was becoming louder, almost a shout as she stood up sending the chair flying backwards, ‘Do you want to know how I know that?!’  
‘I-‘  
‘Because he _fucking_ recorded it!’ She banged her fist on the table, ‘He recorded ever god damn second of what he did to them!’  
She was breathing heavily, and tears were beginning to flood her vision, ‘And so they left Webby with me, “We’ll be back by tomorrow morning!” They said, “You won’t even know we’re gone!’ They said, WELL THEY DIDN’T COME BACK THE NEXT FUCKING DAY!’ She banged her fists in the table again, ‘AND THAT BLOODY LUNATIC RECORDED THE WHOLE THING! HE RECORDED THEM BEGGING FOR THEIR LIVES, HE RECORDED THEM SCREAMING IN PAIN AND DO YOU KNOW WHEN I NEXT SAW THEM?!’ She grabbed Duckworth by the collar of his shirt and yanked him off the ground, ‘THE NEXT TIME I SAW THEM THEY WERE COVERED IN THEIR OWN BLOOD, WITH LIMBS TORN OFF AND EYES MISSING AND CHUNKS OF THEIR BEAKS JUST GONE!’ She threw Duckworth to the ground with that last word, and stood there heaving, ‘She was pregnant’ She whispered, tears streaming down her face and her voice quiet and broken, ‘They were going to have twins’  
Duckworth slowly got up and guided Bentina to sit on his seat and dragged another chair round to sit next her,. ‘A little boy and a little girl’ she continued, head in hands, ‘One was going to be named Patrick, and the other was going to be named after me’ She half choked the words out on her own tears, ‘and they’re all dead… because of me…’  
‘ _What_?! Bentina, this was not your fau-‘  
‘Yes it was! I’m a trained spy, Duckworth! If I’d just noticed something was wrong they’d still be ali-‘  
‘Were they also spies?’  
‘Y-Yes…’  
‘Did they show any signs hat something was wrong?’  
‘They must have! There’s alwa-‘  
‘Did anyone else notice something was wrong?’  
‘No, but I’m her Mother! It’s my job to make sure she’s alright-‘  
‘If no one else noticed anything wrong, then how on earth could anyone expect you to have noticed?’  
‘Because I knew them! I knew them better than anyone! She was my daughter!’  
‘What did he say to you? On this mission yesterday? What happened?’  
‘He… he, talked about them… how much he enjoyed killing them, how- How they’d screamed how- he was a madman! He was insane, he was out of his mind! He-‘  
‘What did you do?’  
‘…’  
‘Bentina what did you do?’  
‘…I killed him’  
Her voice was small and quiet and barley even there at all, ‘He was threatening Webby-‘  
‘I never objected’  
Bentina looked at him with a questioning look and he shrugged, ‘He deserved it’  
‘Duckworth, killing is wrong’ She tried to emphasise  
‘Do you regret it?’  
‘No’  
‘Good, you have no reason to’  
She gave him another look,  
‘What? He clearly deserved it’  
Bentina looked back at her lap, ‘It doesn’t matter anyway, he still killed them’  
‘Do you think they’d blame you? Your daughter and son-in-law?’  
‘Yes’  
‘Were they he type of people to throw blame around like a bouncy ball?’  
‘Well, no bu-‘  
‘Then why would they blame you? They love you’  
‘I… but-‘  
‘Right, it’s late, you should get to bed’  
‘What? but I-‘  
‘And you’ll not be doing anything stressful until I say do’  
‘Excuse me?’  
‘Come along now, I’ll take that for washing’ he grabbed the shirt out of her hands and began to guide her towards her room, ‘You need rest’ he said, looking at her the noticeable bags underneath her eyes, which thankfully seemed to be out of tears.  
Bentina sighed, ‘Alright, alright, yes Mother’  
Duckworth swatted her with the shirt and she smirked slightly, and he smirked bag, before his expression went serious, ‘and if I find out about anymore cutting I will murder you in cold blood’  
Bentina scoffed, ‘Be my guest’  
He swatted her again, hard enough to make her react to the pain,  
‘There will be no self loathing in this household’


	2. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembering has it’s own smile

It was Christmas Day, or Night now.

The day had been pleasant enough, with Webby insisting that he and Bentina use their saved up vacation days and relax, which meant that come Boxing Day they’d probably have a little more work to do then usual, but it was worth it.

He’d woken up to Webbigail jumping on his chest, and screaming about presents under the tree. He tells her off and tries his best to keep the smile from his face, she reminds him so much of Della. He sits up and she rolls onto the bedsheets and jumps up and down on the bed, ‘Come on! Get up!’ She’s yelling, and it’s a wonder McDuck hasn’t come downstairs to tell them off, but perhaps he won’t given they technically aren’t working today. He glances over to the door, and he see’s Bentina leaning on the doorframe, she’s wearing a Christmas jumper with a Christmas Pudding on it, and she’s smiling tiredly and holding a cup of coffee, ‘She did the same thing to me’ She tells him, and Webby grins proudly. ‘I certainly hope I’m not expected to wear a Christmas jumper’ he says, looking Bentina up and down with a rather judgemental look, she rolls her eyes, and Webby imitates her, ‘Why wouldn’t you wanna wear a Christmas jumper?!’ She asks, demonstrating the light up baubles on the Christmas tree of her own jumper, and he sighs and gets up, and Bentina throws a jumper at him, ‘Come along Webby, we’ll wait in the Kitchen’ she says, and Webby runs over to her Granny, takes her hand and they leave him to get dressed in private.

He arrives in the kitchen half an hour later, and see’s Webby doing kart wheels around the kitchen table and Bentina cleaning spilled milk off the countertop. Webby see’s him coming in and runs over ‘What took you so long?!’ She half yells, and before he can answer she turns to Bentina, ‘Granny! You’re not working today!’ She reprimands her when she notices her cleaning, and Bentina replies, ‘Webbigail, just because I’m not working does not mean I’m leaving this place a tip, now, since Duckworth’s here now, don’t you want to see your presents?’  
Webby’s whole face lights up and she dashes towards the living room, and the adults chuckle and follow her.  
‘Loving the jumper, by the way’ Beakley tells him with a grin, his jumper has a typical striped pattern, complete with clashing colours and smiley faces.  
‘This is a crime against fashion’  
‘So’s your face’  
‘I’m sorry, are you seven?’  
‘I got about an hours sleep last night, don’t judge me’  
‘Sometimes I wish McDuck would just let Mr Claus deliver the gifts instead’  
‘I know, it would be so much easier’  
‘Beggars can’t be choosers I suppose’

Webby suddenly comes running back to them, ‘THERE’SLIKEAMILLIONPRESENTSUNDERTHETREECOMEONHURRYUPWEHAVETOOPENTHEMRIGHTNOW’  
‘I beg your pardon?’ Duckworth asks after exchanging a brief confused look with Bentina, Webby giggles, ‘Come on!!’ She grabs both their hands and takes off at a sprint towards the living room, dragging the tired adults along with her.

McDuck Manor has barley any decorations up around the house thanks to McDuck and his apparent hatred for the season, but Bentina and Duckworth had managed to convince him to let them put up a tree, for Webby’s sake.  
The tree is large and very Christmas tree like, which makes sense all things considered. There’s golden tinsel delicately wrapped around it, with careful placement to ensure it doesn’t block the view of any baubles, and there’s pink tinsel thrown around it and half falling off that Duckworth isn’t allowed to move, (‘She’s happy with it and that’s what matters’ Bentina says, Duckworth disagrees). Baubles are hung all over, some parts of the tree are done so that no baubles of the same colour are next to each other and that the spacing between them is just right, others have clusters of the same colour all together, and Duckworth isn’t allowed to touch those either. Thankfully the lights were all done by Duckworth and Bentina, so they didn’t have that half-neat-half-like-they’ve-been-dragged-through-a-bush-backwards look to them, they were silver and gold in colour and looked quite festive if you asked Bentina and Duckworth.  
Webby doesn’t seem as taken by the tree as she had been during the build up to the holiday, she only has eyes for what’s underneath it.

Duckworth and Bentina sit on the couch and make the appropriate comments when Webby opens her presents, asking who their from and acting surprised every time she says Santa, ensuring they get a look at the presents and giving each other smiles when they see her opening a present they remember buying her. Her presents range from dolls and bows to swords and a book about the History of Taekwondo, and Webby is delighted by each one, and throws herself at her Granny when she opens a present from her (A bear she’d sewn herself, with a pink bow and a scar across his face and a cold glare, because Webby likes to give all her toys intense and somewhat traumatic backstories so she might as well give her a head start) and does the same to Duckworth when she opens his (A glass ornament of a duck holding a sword, looking noble and wise and kind, he warns her not to play with it, but to leave it on a windowsill or something, and she nods seriously and swears to protect it with her life).

When Webby’s finished with her presents she gives Beakley and Duckworth one each, they both get a personalised card with drawings of them on it, and Duckworth gets a mug with his drawings of all his favourite things, including a picture of his own face which Bentina thinks says a lot about his character, and in neat for her age but still messy handwriting the words “World’s Best Duckworth” are written with red marker (One day, years in the future, he and Bentina will get drunk and one of them, and they’ll never know who, will scribble out “Duckworth” and write “Homosexual” instead, and they’ll spend the next day trying to get rid of it without Webby noticing whilst dealing with the world’s most enthusiastic hangovers), he loves it, he tells her, and it’s true, he does. Bentina gets a hand made sword, it’s wooden and tied together with pieces of string, and coloured in with purple and green and far to much glitter (One day, years in the future, somehow they’ll end up in a rather tight spot and it’ll be the only “weapon” on hand, and Bentina will have to fight with it, and one side of the handle will fall off but no one will fix it, it’s a memory now) and Bentina assures her that it is absolutely the deadliest weapon she’s ever heard, and that she’s sure it would destroy anyone who so much as touched the blade, and Webby is glowing with pride and Duckworth thinks that this is a very strange bonding experience.

When Webby’s done opening her presents, Bentina heads to the kitchen to prepare dinner, and Webby and Duckworth follow with an army of stuffed animals and toy swords (or at least Duckworth thinks they’re toys).  
Preparing dinner takes a lot longer than usual, because Webby insists on helping and Duckworth insists on doing the opposite. So Bentina spends half her time making sure that Webby’s “help” isn’t poisonous and the other half fending off Duckworth who, among other things, keeps sneaking bits of raw food off the plate to share with Webby, and usually has a ten minute skit about betrayal prepared for every time Bentina takes the food off them, and no the fact he almost ate a raw egg is no at all an issue, the issue is that Bentina took the egg away and he has never felt so betrayed in his entire life, but Bentina thinks the issue might be that Webby gave Duckworth a lot of sugar whilst they were stealing food and it does not take a lot of sugar to make Duckworth a hyperactive three year old. With all this going on, Bentina isn’t quite sure how she managed to make dinner, but she did, and even with Webby’s “help” it isn’t poisoned.  
Dinner is very similar to the way it is every day, only with Christmas Crackers containing paper hats that Webby will not let anyone take off, despite Duckworth complaining that they will all be going to fashion hell. It being similar to every day meant that the conversation revolves around that outbreak of deadly flowers in the garden a few nights ago, the fact that neither Duckworth nor Bentina will ever be able to reach that one really high shelf even with help from a step ladder (Which means that shelf will remain undusted until the end of time, because if Scrooge managed to hire someone taller than those two it would be because they were a literal God), and the debate of whether or not it was Duckworth, Webby or Bentina’s fault that a Selkie ended up in the bath last night. Of course what makes it different is that Bentina and Duckworth tell Webby stories about Christmases that have come and gone, about Della and Donald rushing down the stairs at ungodly hours of the morning screaming about presents, and Duckworth insists on telling Webby all about that one Christmas Party when Beakley had a fling with Death (‘I was drunk, alright?!’ ‘Did you get along?’ ‘ Oh yes dear, we’re still in touch, they’re very nice’ ‘Webby, I have a sneaking suspicion you might be part death’ ‘Cool!’ ‘Duckworth, no’).

And all too soon dinner is over, and it’s about time that Webby was in bed, but Duckworth and Bentina stay awake and clean up wrapping paper and dirty plates, and after that they decide to share a just a little bit of wine before going to bed.

And that leaves them with just one hour of Christmas left, and they spend it on one of the balconies on the second floor, with a bottle of wine on the floor and a wine glass each.

They leant on the railing and stared out at the night, where stars peaked out from behind snow clouds and the lights from the city shone almost as brightly as the moon. The air was cold and the wind blew just hard enough to send Bentina’s greying hair flowing out behind her, and the same to Duckworth’s shorter hair.  
They stood there for a while, in silent remembrance of Christmases that had come and gone, and all the days leading up to those Christmases and all the days after them.  
It was Bentina who broke the silence,  
‘I take it McDuck still hasn’t made an appearance?’ She asked, in the sort of tone that said she already knew the answer.  
‘No, I doubt he’s left his bed at all today’  
There was another pause, and then a sigh,  
‘Poor thing’ Bentina said sadly,  
‘Yes, did you leave anything outside his door?’  
‘Some turkey and a gift’  
‘I left him some breakfast this morning, and a gift when we were cleaning up’  
‘We’re my things still there?’  
‘No, he must’ve taken them in’  
Bentina smiled, ‘That’s good’  
And then silence fell once again, as they sipped their wine and watched some rabbits running around in the garden.  
‘Do you remember when the twins camped outside to catch Mr Claus?’ Duckworth asked with a small smile, and Beakley chuckled and nodded, ‘Who could forget? Scrooge dragged us out to stay with them’  
‘God, it was freezing out there!’  
‘I know! Oh and that – What was it? – Whendigo they were going on about before they left too!’  
‘Yes, apparently those things are real!’  
‘I know, did you not see Scrooge’s face when they mentioned it?’  
Duckworth snorted, ‘He looked like they’d just told him Miss O’Gilt had snogged Glomgold’  
‘She probably has’  
‘Fair enough’  
They laughed, it was a remembering laugh. Remembering has its own laugh, you never laugh quite he same way that you do when you’re remembering a time that’s come to pass.  
‘Remember any Christmases with your family?’ Bentina asked after a brief silence, and Duckworth didn’t answer for a few moments,  
‘I don’t remember my family’ He said, his voice quiet and sad and remembering, but not the same sort of remembering. He was remembering times that hadn’t happened, memories that existed only in the corner of his mind filled with “Maybes” and “What ifs”.  
‘I’m sorry’ said Bentina, looking at him with sad eyes, and Duckworth gave a weak smile, ‘Don’t be’ he told her.  
‘If I might ask, and you have every right not to answer, but, if your family were out of the picture, who raised you?’  
Duckworth was silent again, staring out at the lights marking Duckburg before he answered, ‘I wasn’t exactly raised by one person, rather, a lot of people who less raised me than made sure I didn’t die of exaustion’  
Bentina was silent, replaying his words after he said them, ‘Did I never tell you?’ He asked, in the sort of voice that knew he hadn’t, ‘I was a slave’  
‘You were a _what_?’  
Duckworth smiled a sad smile, ‘Only for about thirty years, then the masters were found by the authorities’  
‘You spent thirty years as a slave?’  
‘Yes, it could’ve been worse I suppose, I do enjoy cleaning’  
‘Duckworth, that’s awful’ Bentina whispered, reaching her hand out to place it on top of his, and entwining her fingers with his, he wasn’t tense, he spoke like it half hurt him but he’d half gotten over it, he turned and smiled at her, his smile was melancholy, but remembering too, a different sort, a sad remembering, but not with tears and grieving, but with a pain and sorrow that hid behind nights spent awake staring at the ceiling. He turned his hand so he held her’s, and Bentina gave his it a squeeze.  
‘What happened then?’ She asked, ‘Where did you go?’  
‘Oh, you know, got a job cleaning hotel rooms, Mr McDuck happened to be staying one night, hjinks ensued and he offered me a job’ he smiled, less sad this time, ‘Life became neither uphill nor downhill after that, more of a race around a racetrack in an enchanted forest’  
Bentina snorted  
‘Oh and the racetrack hadn’t been built’  
Bentina rolled her eyes  
‘And there’s a horse you’re meant to be riding but he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go’  
‘Because the racetrack hasn’t been built?’  
‘Because the racetrack hasn’t been built’  
‘I think that sums life up rather well’  
‘How about you? What led you to housekeeping ?’  
Bentina scoffed, ‘You know my story, partnered up with an idiot, said idiot turned out to have one braincell and a guest bedroom’  
‘I mean what brought you back, what made you decide to be a housekeeper of all things? It never really seemed your style’  
‘Well, after Webby was left in my care I decided she needed a more stable upbringing than her parents had’  
‘So you brought her to the exact place her mother grew up?’  
Beakley shook her head, ‘It’s not the same place these days’  
‘Don’t I know it’  
They were quiet again, watching lights turn off in the city as parents finally convinced their children to go to bed, before Bentina spoke up, ‘It would’ve been so much easier if the wife had still been around’  
‘Everything would be easier if she was still kicking’  
Bentina chuckled, ‘She always seemed to know what to do’  
‘Didn’t she just’  
There was a pause, before Bentina spoke again, ‘I miss her’ she said, voice quiet.  
‘Me too’ said Duckworth, just as quiet  
‘It all happened so… quick’  
‘And yet so slowly’  
Bentina finished her wine in one gulp and leaned over the bannister ‘FUCK CANCER’ She screamed at nothing, and Duckworth raised his glass, ‘I’ll drink to that’ he said, picking up the bottle and refilling Bentina’s glass, ‘Sorry’ she muttered, ‘Don’t quite know where that came from’  
‘I’d say bottled up emotions and a smidge of alcohol’  
Bentina grunted and drank more of her wine, with much more of a delicate sip than before.  
‘Did it just get colder?’ Asked Duckworth as the wind picked up, ‘I believe it did’ said Bentina, and just as she said it, the wind calmed and went back to the way it was.  
‘I think she’s telling you off’  
Bentina laughed, ‘That sounds like her’  
‘What do you think she’d say’  
‘I think she’d just hit me’  
‘Probably me as well for encouraging you’  
Bentina smirked and they returned to quiet, Duckburg’s lights had half gone out now, and there was the faint sound of drunk people singing carols in the distance. The moon shone from behind a cloud, and years in the future they’d remember that night and wonder what Della had been doing. They were watching an owl hunt a squirrel when Duckworth remembered something he’d been meaning to talk to her about, but had held it off in favour of a merry Christmas .  
‘The weaponry’s been order recently’ he said, his expression going from a remembering smile to serious, and Bentina tensed, any allude to the weaponry usually wasn’t good.  
‘Though, there was a very familiar scent in the kitchen’  
‘Oh?’  
‘Yes, on a blade, nonetheless’  
Bentina sighed, ‘It was weeks ago, I-‘  
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’  
‘It wasn’t bad, I didn’t need help’  
‘Bentina, I need to know about these things’  
‘Since when was I under any obligation to tell you anything?!’  
‘Since you refused to take care of yourself, now, arm’  
Bentina muttered something under her breath, before allowing him to roll up her sleeve. She’d long since given up bothering with huge arguments over things like this, Duckworth usually found a way to get through to her, and besides, it wasn’t as if she enjoyed being alone with a knife and her thoughts.  
‘Both arms?’ He asked,  
‘Just the one’ She replied, ‘Like I said, it wasn’t bad’  
‘It’s hardly good’ he muttered, using his finger to trace to scars. There weren’t many recent ones, since the incident with the weaponry he’d managed to convince her to talk to him more, even if it meant simply annoying her until she retaliated, and she hadn’t showed a huge interest in doing it again, but it was an addiction of sorts, he supposed. Now she knew she was able to do it it was a lot easier, and unless Duckworth put a stop to it soon, it might become that she’d do it over the smallest of things, but thankfully it didn’t seem to be coming to that. She’d done it once or twice since, only when memories became to painfull and Webby smiled just a little too much like her Mother.  
The most recent scars were deep and long, as if she’d put time and effort into each one, it seemed they’d opened up older ones as well. She’d cleaned them this time, but that didn’t make it any better.  
He looked at her, she was staring at the gardens, she still refused to maintain eye contact. He sighed and let go go her arm, and she immediately rolled up her sleave.  
‘What was it this time?’ He asked  
Bentina hesitated, but replied nonetheless, ‘Webby and I got into an argument over going outside’  
‘Oh’  
‘I know she wants to go outside- and I know she hates being cooped up and it’s making her miserable, but I just…I… I can’t loose her’ she whispered ‘What if something happened I hadn’t prepared her for? I need to know she’s ready!’  
Duckworth didn’t make eye contact this time, he didn’t entirely approve of Webby not being allowed out of the grounds, but as much as he loved the little girl she wasn’t his, and if it helped Bentina to know she was safe then it wasn’t a loose loose situation at least.  
‘She’ll go outside at some point, when she’s in her teens maybe - I’m not Mother Gothel or anything – I just need to kno-‘  
‘I know, Bentina, I know’  
And then the quiet returned.  
And then Duckworth held her hand again, and squeezed it.  
He didn’t need to say much, a squeeze of the hand said “Please don’t do it again” and “It’ll be alright” and “They’d be proud” all at once.  
And then they smiled at each other.  
And then Duckworth felt a snowflake land on his nose.  
And then hey looked up to see the snow beginning to fall, and Duckworth checked his watch. It was a white Christmas – with ten minutes to spare.  
‘We should get to bed’ Said Bentina, and Duckworth nodded, and they turned to each other, raising their glasses.  
‘Merry Christmas, Bentina Beakley’  
‘Merry Christmas, Jackass Duckworth’  
‘That’s still not my name’  
‘How do you know?’  
‘Oh, piss off’  
And then they laughed, gulped down the last of what was left in their glasses, and prepared to be woken at the crack of dawn when Webby found out it had snowed last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Really hope you enjoyed this chapter, it’s not as angsty as the last one but I tried my best lol
> 
> Quick note about Duckworth - I just want to say that I’m yet to get around to watching any episodes of the original series, so I know very little about his original character. I’m basing his personality and interactions off what little we’ve seen of him in the Re-boot, and since that’s not much to work with he might be a little out of character. 
> 
> Also, this work uses the same backstory for Beakley as my Just Life AU, except for the parts about her wife and family, those will be different in the AU :)
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


	3. Whatever happened to Duckworth?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s gone

* * *

Webby considered herself an expert on a lot of things, after all, she was nine years old, she was practically an adult.

But there were some things she never understood.

Like how Duckworth and Granny went serious whenever one of them mentioned the weaponry, or how Duckworth would sometimes come into the kitchen, sniff the air and stride over to one of the drawers, take another sniff and glare at her Granny. Or how even on the hottest days when every window and door in the manor was open and spent the day doing laps of the pool, and Duckworth would take off his waistcoat and roll up the sleeves of his shirt and if the heat was unbearable he’d even unbutton his collar, but Granny always wore long sleeves, even when she looked like she might overheat, and sometimes she’d catch Duckworth looking at her like he felt sorry for her.  
She theorised that she was secretly part dragon and had to hide her scaly arms and legs and Duckworth was the only one who knew.

Though she knew it wasn’t true, because she’d seen her just her short sleeved shirt on once when she’d gone downstairs for a glass of milk in the middle of the night. Duckworth and Granny had been leaning on the countertops, Granny must have just been back from a mission, because she could see bandaged wounds on her arms. She hadn’t thought anything of it, but perhaps years later when she was much older than nine years old she’d think back and realise Granny hadn’t been on a mission that day, and perhaps things would click together and maybe she’d even ask her about it. But that was not now, because Webby was, back then, seven years old and was really just interested in a glass of milk and maybe if she gave Duckworth and Granny her sweetest smile, a biscuit. So she hadn’t notice that her Granny had her jumper back on when Duckworth was done pouring her a glass of milk, or that their smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes.

Webby didn’t think about it much, after all it was two years ago, and two years is a very long time if you asked Webby.

A lot had changed since then.  
Bad things, Webby thought, and so did Granny.

She remembered waking up and deciding that today would be a fantastic day to wake Duckworth and Granny up at the crack of dawn because she really wanted pancakes for breakfast.   
As was tradition, she’d run down he hall to wake up her Granny first, and on that particular occasion wave a good morning to Mr McDuck as he (being an early riser) went downstairs for Breakfast.  
She’d burst into her Granny’s room to find that she was already dressed and just about to go downstairs, because apparently eight o’clock was not as early as eight year old Webby had thought it was. She’d been disappointed of course, but then Granny had smiled and told her she hadn’t heard Duckworth heading for his morning shower, which meant he’d probably slept in, so the responsible thing to do would be to wake him up, and since she’d be so busy making breakfast, who better for the job than Webby?  
So Webby had bolted down the hallway to Duckworth’s room and found him asleep in his bed, and she’d grinned and clambered on and started jumping on the mattress.

But he hadn’t woken up.

So she’d sighed and started shaking him vigorously, yelling his name and “Wake up!” And “Come _oooonnnn_ ”

Still no response.

So she’d stopped shaking him and turned all her energy to lifting up his ear and screaming his name into it.

Nothing.

That was when she remembered starting to panic, and so she thought back to Granny’s training

“ _Check the pulse, see its right on the wrist, there we go - can you feel it?_ ”

She checked it, and when she didn’t find it she assumed she must have been doing it wrong, because it had to be there somewhere.

“ _Check to see if the chest is moving as they brea_ the, like this”

She remembered again, and so she checked for it. Whilst training, it was Granny who had pretended to be unconscious, and so she’d made seeing how her chest moved very easy, but Duckworth didn’t, she couldn’t see it move at all, but perhaps that was just a Duckworth thing, he liked to make things difficult. She thought back to the training and grinned as she remembered again (Today was proving that she was very good at remembering)

“ _Get something like glasses or a mirror or - well I suppose an axe will do – now put it just above the nose and mouth. You should be able to see the breath make the it cloud up slightly, yes like that_ ”  
So Webby had scanned the room and found Duckworth’s reading glasses on the bedside table, and she’d done just as she had in her training.   
And the glasses didn’t must up at all.   
She had to be doing it wrong.   
There was only one thing for it,   
‘GRANNY’  
‘GRAAAAANNNYYY’  
‘GRANNY’  
‘GRANNY’   
‘GRANNNNNYYYYY’  
‘GRANDMAAAAAA’  
‘GRANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYY’  
‘GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYYYY-‘

She stopped as she heard loud footsteps stomping up the stairs and down the corridor, and the door slamming open, ‘For goodness sake Webbigail!’ Said Granny, looking very annoyed, ‘Mr McDuck is _tryi_ -‘  
‘GRANNYICAN’TGETDUCKWORTHTOWAKEUP’  
That had efficiently stopped he Granny from telling her off.  
It had also surprised Webby with just how panicked she was, she thought she had been somewhat calm up until now.   
‘What?’  
‘I-I’ve done everything you said but I think I did it wrong!’  
‘Go get Mr McDuck’  
Webby nodded and ran downstairs.

Granny had done all the checks again by the time she got back, and probably some more knowing her, and had her hand over her mouth by the time she returned with Mr McDuck, who burst into the room and asked ‘Situation?’  
And Granny hadn’t answered, she just took her hand from her mouth and held Duckworth’s hand.  
Mr McDuck had walked over to the bedside and poked Duckworth with his cane ‘Oi’ he said, ‘Wake up ye silly old thing’ he’d told him, without his usually grumpiness, he more sounded like he was holding back tears. Duckworth didn’t listen, he didn’t even roll over and tell them all to let him sleep.   
Granny and Mr McDuck had looked at each other for a moment, and that was when Webby’s noticed the tears forming in Mr McDucks eyes and the ones that were falling down her Granny’ face.  
‘He’s gone’ said Granny.   
Mr McDuck put his cane down, and lifted the bedsheets over Duckworth’s face, and Granny let out a strangled sob, and Mr McDuck out a hand on her shoulder, but Webby could see his own tears fall onto the ground.

Webby had been quiet when she cane over to the bed and stood next to her Granny, ‘What do you mean he’s… gone…?  
Granny and Mr McDuck looked surprised to hear her, like they’d forgotten all about her.

Mr McDuck coughed uncomfortably and mentioned something about a paramedic before leaving the room.  
Granny wiped her eyes and knelt down, taking her hands in her’s and taking a rather shaky breath, ‘Listen, Webby, Duckworth is-was…. getting on in yea-‘  
‘Is he really... _dead_?’  
Her Granny nodded.

  
Nothing was quite the same after that.

Webby overheard people talking about heart attacks and old age and other things, but whenever she asked Granny what happened she’d tell her that it was simply his time to go.   
Duckworth’s funeral had been huge, with people he’d met upon his travels with the family coming to pay their respects, and even Donald had shown up, but he hadn’t spoken to any of the family, except briefly to Granny to tell her how sorry he was, and he hadn’t brought the nephews. Though the news seemed less interested by Duckworth’s death and more interested by the fact that Scrooge and Donald had both made speeches, and even spoken to a reporter about his old friend, and so Webby had gotten angry and punched a reporter, and whilst Granny had apologised to the gentleman she never told Webby off.

After that, life at McDuck Manor changed.

Mr McDuck came downstairs and talked to her Granny more often, not much, but more. He didn’t talk to Webby unless he had too, and on one occasion he’d thrown an apple in what was probably meant to be a gentle toss sort of fashion, but he ended up lobbing it full force at her.   
He was awesome, Webby thought.

As for Granny?   
She was fine.  
She looked a little tired, but she was fine.  
She retired her turtleneck for a cardigan and went on as she always did.   
Sometimes Webby would catch her start talking to nothing, and then she’d look up to find nothing, and she’d go quiet.   
But she was fine.  
That’s what she told Webby.

Of course she didn’t tell Webby about how her entire world crumbled into a million pieces when Duckworth, the only person she had left that she could talk to, died. She didn’t tell her about how she went downhill, barley getting any sleep. She didn’t tell her how she always found away to blame herself, because there must have been signs, there had to have been a way to save him if she’d only noticed.

And she absolutely didn’t tell her that now there was no one to talk her out of late night visits to the weaponry.   
They happened quite often now.

But she didn’t tell Webby, she was only a child.

Webby didn’t only being a child, she considered nine years old a rather nice age to be, and she didn’t have any interest in becoming anything else.  
It was when Webby was still nine years old that she asked the question.  
That godamn question that her Granny had been dreading her entire life.   
‘Who were my Mom and Dad?’  
Her Granny almost dropped what she was holding when she’d asked, but she’d told her.

She’d told her about her Mother, who was brave and full of confidence, if a little obnoxious and upfront.   
She’d told her about her soft spoken bookworm of a Father, who’d been the happiest she’d ever seen him when he found he’d be a Dad.  
She’d told her about her Mother’s smile, and about her long pale blonde hair and how everyone said she looked just like her mother.  
She’d told her about her fathers messy mop of hair and his collection of patterned shirts and how he could never find his glasses when he needed them.

And then she’d asked another question.  
‘What happened to them?’

Her Granny had hesitated, and then she’d told her.   
And Webby had listened.   
And when Granny was done, she’d cried.   
So had Granny.   
And Webby had hugged her, and Granny had looked surprised.   
‘Thanks for being there’ Webby had said, ‘Thanks for being my Granny’  
And Granny had held her tight in her arms

And she didn’t visit the weaponry that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short update I know, but please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Ansjsjskskssk it’s not been spellchecked but it’s 1:00am rn so imma do it laterrrrrr
> 
> Please review if you have the timmeee :))


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